Hypothetically Speaking
by timorous-scribe
Summary: Quinn wakes up at a sleepover when someone starts having sex in the same room. She must decide whether to leave and face the awkwardness, or stay and try to ignore it. Follows Preferential Thought, but isn't really a sequel.


**Title**: Hypothetically Speaking  
**Author**: timorous-scribe  
**Length**: ~4k  
**Rating**: M  
**Pairing(s)**: Faberry (unreq), Brittana  
**Spoilers:** set around s3 MashOff-IKAG arc  
**Summary**: Quinn wakes up at a sleepover when someone starts having sex in the same room. She must decide whether to leave and face the awkwardness, or stay and try to ignore it. Follows Preferential Thought.

* * *

"_God_, yesss..."

Quinn's eyes popped open suddenly at the gasp, blearily sweeping around herself for the source. She wasn't sure if the words were actually spoken or just bled over from her dreams, but _something_ had her awake, and where the hell was she? It registered slowly as her vision swam around in the darkness of what was definitely not her own room: Rachel's basement, glee girls spontaneous '_show of support' _for Santana.

Santana made the comment when they first arrived that she wanted it noted she was only present for the spectacle, and that half of them were Troubletones (and not New Directions), anyway. Rachel's features had shifted into her 'Prom-night Carrie' expression as she insisted rather firmly that they were _friends_, and this was what friends did for each other.

She wasn't wrong—whether any of them would admit it or not—and since Rachel could be pretty well terrifying when concentrated on something so fiercely, no one felt like correcting her. Santana had just shrugged, failing to hide her vaguely nauseated expression, and pushed past Rachel to follow Mercedes down to the basement, pulling Brittany behind her by the pinky while snarking about how there better be booze.

Kurt was actually the one to convince Rachel to bust out the alcohol with a whispered reminder that Carrie Bradshaw _always_ had a drink when dishing with her girls. Still desperate to repair their relationship post-election rift 2012, Rachel had nodded anxiously and latched on to Kurt's approving smile. Santana and Brittany ended up being the only ones to really drink, anyways, with Blaine sipping a single drink through the whole evening under Kurt's watchful eye, Mercedes begging off for church in the morning, Tina for a picnic with Mike, and Quinn offering nothing further than a sour expression that managed to convey both snide derision and genuine confusion that someone could be so _stupid_.

She'd dropped her body into the big round bamboo chair in the corner and tucked her legs underneath herself, watching everyone else quietly. Santana called it brooding, and by her third drink had taken to calling her 'Angel,' which turned to various slurred versions of 'gargoyle' (though it may have been 'argyle' or 'Gargamel,' she wasn't certain) when Quinn wouldn't leave her perch to join them on the floor for Apples to Apples.

They giggled and gossiped through the night, and everyone dropped off during Magic Mike sometime after one. Quinn had managed to force herself into a light sleep after everyone else passed out, crossing her legs indian-style and flat refusing to move or open her eyes until sleep overtook her.

All her twisting over Shelby and Puck in recent weeks had her practiced at the art of seething her way into a meditative state, and she'd always drawn a small satisfaction from _any _battle of wills won—even if only with herself.

She furrowed blonde brows and blinked, scanning over the sleeping bags strewn across the stage and floor that were piled over extra blankets and pillows because, "appropriate lumbar support while sleeping is crucial to spinal health and flexibility, which can dramatically influence the effective execution of choreography."

At least, that was what Rachel had babbled at them while dispersing the linens earlier in the evening. They'd all rolled their eyes (though some hushed part of Quinn found it endearing), but by the time they were falling asleep on something other than the hardwood floor they appreciated her neuroses—albeit silently. Santana had claimed the sectional sofa for herself and Brittany before the movie started, citing their right to comfort as Cheerio-related and non-negotiable.

Quinn could make out the shape of Kurt in the corner of the room by the bar—'roasted mauve' silk sleep mask in place—with Blaine curled into his side. The boys had zipped their bags together and she decided they were actually kind of cute all snuggled into each other. If you could forget the saccharine-sweet superiority and only mildly judgmental 'advice' that permeated their waking behaviors, they were just _adorable_.

Blaine's hand flexed against his boyfriend's side in his sleep, gripping the silk of Kurt's pajama shirt, and Quinn felt a familiar stab of loneliness. Pushing away the mild ache and intrusive feeling the moment spawned in her stomach, she returned to the reason she was even awake to see the intimacy. They were both obviously very asleep and not the voice that had startled her.

Her gaze slid to Mercedes sprawled on her back not far from the couple, one foot stuck out from beneath the zippered edge of her sleeping bag and her arms splayed wide above her head. Her snore vibrated Quinn's eardrums and she idly wondered if it would wake anyone else. The raw noise was just the right frequency to be _very_ irritating to her ears, like rubbing styrofoam against a balloon or listening to Sugar Motta sing.

The next moment, a low whimper floated out from the sectional sofa directly to the left of Quinn's round chair. The mound of blankets shifted and rolled slightly, belying the activity beneath, and realization dawned. Quinn almost felt stupid for it taking so long.

Of _course_ Brittany and Santana would find no issue having sex in a room full of their friends. Not only was Santana's coming out (or _outing,_ if Quinn cared for semantics) the reason for this ridiculous mutant child of junior high sleepover, but neither of them had any tact—nor a decent person's healthy sense of shame—about sex. Or anything else, really. Quinn loved her friends, but she wasn't deluded about their flaws.

A gasp—was that Brittany?—from beneath the quilt was joined by wet sucking noises and Quinn shifted slightly in the deep cushioning of her seat. Without giving away that she was awake (_Like they'd notice,_ she scoffed to herself), she looked back to the other blanketed lumps representing people in the room around her, checking to see if any of them had moved and would be joining her in affronted awkwardness.

It seemed almost unfair after everything Santana had been through recently to interrupt them, even given how_ inappropriate_ they were being. Even more than that, though, she flat _refused_ to give Santana any reason to think she was jealous, given their own unmentionable encounter just a few weeks ago. Cheeks flaming hotly at the memory, Quinn choked it down with a heavy swallow.

With a quick glance to the sofa to ensure the Cheerios were still out of sight beneath their blanket, she silently craned her neck over the right side of her chair in search of the other body that should've been in the basement with them. She quickly found what was definitely Rachel's pepto-pink pajamas, her small body half out of her sleeping bag and tucked around the bottom of the chair Quinn was peering down from.

Lovely. Somehow, she didn't remember that happening when she settled a few hours ago.

It definitely meant that even if she were to attempt escape of the not-so-covert sex taking place to her left, she would have to very carefully _magic_ herself out of the damned chair just to avoid tripping over Rachel. God, did she have to be such a pain in the ass even when she was _asleep_?

Quinn's voice of reason (or self-harassment, as she referred to it in her own mind) noted that it was kind of sweet, Rachel sleeping so close to her. It was almost adorable, and it made the butterflies in her stomach that showed up whenever the brunette came to mind flutter around.

A hand suddenly shot out from under the edge of the quilt nearest to her on the sofa, derailing the dangerous thought process Quinn had begun and pushing back the cover to reveal a sweaty and panting Brittany's face.

The dancer arched her back over the arm of the sofa and gasped like a woman drowning, her escaped hand flying down to grip the vaguely round shape still bobbing beneath the blanket. Quinn could make out the peaks of the blonde's knees in the shapes moving the fabric's surface, which made Santana's head—she assumed—the rolling curve between.

_Well then._

She shifted against the faint throb beginning between her thighs, trying to force herself to take her eyes off the scene. Brittany arched and Santana followed, gasping whimpers of Santana's name stuttering out in broken succession.

Quinn's breath went shallow as she watched, her tongue dragging roughly over suddenly dry lips. _Dammit._ She was incensed to note that maybe she _was_ kind of jealous—when she and Santana had fumbled their way across the friendship line, they hadn't done _that_. She attempted to quell the insult by reminding herself that Santana was a lesbian, and she was most definitely_ not, _so it really shouldn't matter what they had or hadn't done together in her moment of weakness.

It was impossible to just ignore the pair when she could still hear the obscenely _wet_ noises they made together (now joined by a slight creak from the couch springs and Brittany's sharp gasps), along with the movements the quilt did little to conceal. Quinn's lashes fluttered briefly watching Brittany toss her head and grip the back of the couch, her eyes clenched tight and lower lip caught between white teeth. There was something primal and intoxicating about how unabashed the girl was in her pleasure, rolling her body shamelessly against Santana's face.

Just when Quinn was certain she was going to jump up and flee (but probably not move at all), the Cheerio porn taking place beside her started to intensify with a flurry of choked whimpers and wildly thrusting hips.

Quinn swallowed and blinked rapidly, a mantra of '_look away, look away'_ careening around her mind ignored. She could tell Santana had raised up on her knees in the excitement, lifting the blonde to her mouth and rocking her whole body deeply into the other girl's while the couch springs squealed in protest.

She felt a responding clench in her lower abdomen at the look on Brittany's face: sweat glistening on her skin in the low light from the staircase, lips parted in shallow panting, blonde brows drawn in concentration. Quinn couldn't tell if she was envious or just disapproving, but the growing wetness she was desperately trying to ignore leaned towards a fairly clear answer.

All movement ceased for a heartbeat and Quinn released the breath she'd been holding, catching it again a moment later as the lithe body on the sofa spasmed violently, folding in on itself.

"'Ta_-na_..." The name was more whined than spoken, carried on a tight exhale that had Quinn biting down on her lip at the sound. She watched in rapt attention as the blanket folded back, exposing the rest of Brittany's toned body with a sweaty Santana pressed between her thighs, one knee hanging off to the floor and her hand pinned between their bodies. Quinn's throat went dry as Santana licked her lips lasciviously then rolled her spine up until she was sitting, simultaneously dropping her other knee to the floor and pulling Brittany up to face her.

They crashed together kissing hungrily while Quinn watched with a heavy-lidded gaze, her eyes trailing down the flexing muscle of Santana's arm to where it disappeared behind the rough jerking of her hips. Brittany's legs wound around Santana's waist to cross and lock while her arms wrapped around the girl's neck, lifting herself erratically against every thrust.

They were impossibly attractive together; Quinn assured herself that _no one_ could witness this kind of raw eroticism and remain unfazed, it was just animal sexuality. It certainly didn't mean anything about her that the whole situation was rapidly pushing her beyond turned on.

She closed her eyes tightly just as Santana tried to muffle Brittany's cry with her mouth, little moans leaking through and rippling over Quinn in aftershocks. Concentrating on inhaling steadily through her nose and releasing the breath in a controlled exhale—lamaze leftovers—she tried not to listen to the tiny whimpers still trickling from Brittany. She could hear them both still panting in the aftermath and hoped against hope that they were finished (_If there is a god.._).

Quinn could force herself to ignore the pulse between her thighs (and maybe the memory of what Santana's sweat tasted like) if they would just stop with the aural and visual stimulation for a _moment._ Almost as if she heard Quinn's thought, Santana urged Brittany back on the couch and crawled up over her, reaching back to pull the quilt up over them. The hiss of whispers Quinn couldn't quite make out zig-zagged through the silence before giving way to the soft sound of kissing.

Quinn took in another slow deep breath, holding it while she fought against the sudden return of cold loneliness aching in her chest. It was an odd sort of dissonance, being pleased that her friends had found love together at the same time as bitterly envying them the experience. That damned voice of self-harassment spoke up again, 'helpfully' reminding her that Rachel was _literally _at her feet. An image of herself and Rachel on the sofa instead of her friends appeared unbidden at the front of her mind, and she felt an immediate pull her in lower belly.

_No_, she needed to be pushing away all of this—thinking of Rachel as any kind of reality, being turned on by girls having sex, the loneliness making her desperate, _everything. _Santana's distinctive growl rumbled from under the quilt and she felt her resistance dissipate with it in the humid air of the basement. Before she had a chance to bully or chastise herself, Quinn's eyes snapped open and fixed back on the girls in the dark.

The blanket still hanging across her shoulders, Santana was on all fours over Brittany with her face pressed into the girl's neck and her hips undulating, leaving little question as to what the blonde's hands were doing. If she strained her ears, Quinn could actually make out the trademark squishing noise that confirmed her suspicion and shamed her for listening, all at once.

Without really meaning to, she squeezed her thighs together at the thought of Santana grinding hotly like that into her thigh not long ago. Indulging the memory made her feel like she was actively stabbing Brittany in the back, and her normal connection between guilt and arousal twisted differently with the realization.

She shifted the image in her mind back to her favorite fantasy girl, instantly intensifying the throbbing. Sighing silently and feeling a thousand pounds lighter for it, Quinn finally gave in. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, picturing Rachel rocking over her the way Santana was over Brittany.

Sliding her right hand under the soft flannel waistband of her pajama pants, she let Santana's growing whimpers blend into her imagination as her fingers traced over fabric that practically radiated heat. They weren't quite the right tone, of course, but when coupled with the panting, she could curl the sound into something closer to what she wanted to hear. Her fingers dipped just under the edge of damp cotton panties covering her sex and she paused—what if they heard her?

"God, Britt... _more._" Santana's breathless plea drowned Quinn's worry with a wave of heat. They weren't going to hear her, they wouldn't hear a fucking atom bomb at this point. Some quiet part of her brain noted the possible inferences to be found in her blended fantasizing of Rachel while listening to her best friends have sex, but the visual in her head of Rachel's face eclipsed the concern.

Quinn could see her perfectly, her brows knitted together in concentration like they did when she sang, lips dark and plumped from kissing parted to pant, little gasps falling with every move of Quinn's fingers. Seemingly of their own accord, her fingers had started skimming aimlessly over the slickness of her own swollen flesh, avoiding anywhere too deliberate while she imagined doing the same to Rachel.

Rolling her lower lip between her teeth to stifle any sounds escaping, Quinn let her head fall to the side as she sank further into the scene in her mind. A sharp gasp from Santana turned into Rachel's mouth falling open while her eyes clenched closed, Quinn's fingers brushing once, twice, over the center of nerves hidden in her folds before teasing away again. Quinn continued the game for as long as she could stand, her pulse thumping in her ears and her teeth digging into her lip as she imagined Rachel sweaty and flushed, hips swinging desperately as she begged for more direct attention.

"_You like teasing me?" _Santana's whisper carried in the silence and Quinn was so lost in her imagination that it was Rachel's breath tickling her ear with the words.

"Uh-huh..." Quinn's low grunt echoed in the room, all three girls freezing in silence simultaneously. The blonde's stomach lurched into her throat and she held her breath, first hoping that they hadn't heard her, then when the silence stretched on for several heartbeats, praying they would ignore it.

"Did you hear that?" Santana barely breathed out the words, but damn the Berrys' soundproofed basement having _awesome_ acoustics—unsurprising—that made it ricochet around gaining volume until Quinn's panic forced her into a snap decision.

She stretched her arms in a clumsy arc, grumbling sleepily while making a show of looking around the room. Santana and Brittany remained frozen under their quilt, and she skimmed over them with no more attention paid than to any of the others. Stumbling over Rachel to get to her feet (the brunette snuffling into her pillow at the nudge), Quinn muttered some raspy non-words—'water' mixed in rather cleverly, she thought—as she made her way to the staircase with unbalanced steps.

Once upstairs, she climbed the next flight to the second floor, Rachel's bathroom at the far end of the hall seeming like the safest destination. She closed the door and leaned against it with a heavy exhale, almost giggling out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation.

A yellow pair of panties with tiny pink hearts printed all over them lay on the floor next to the laundry hamper, catching Quinn's eye and immediately calling to her mind an image of Rachel removing them. The picture was more than enough to successfully stifle the mirth.

It was so wrong, so _naughty_, but even though almost getting busted had taken its toll on her libido, being in Rachel's bathroom in the middle of the night with her pussy aching and the girl's panties _right there_ notched it right back up to critical levels. Quinn promptly decided she could be disgusted with herself later, right now there were more pressing matters.

"Might as well." She muttered, pushing off the door and moving forward to brace one hand on the counter next to the sink. The other she pushed under her tee and lightly over the soft skin of her stomach, closing her eyes to draw up the fantasy of Rachel that had almost gotten her caught. She inhaled deeply, the different elements of Rachel's scent filling her lungs and helping her immerse in her imagination.

_"You like teasing me?" _Quinn could hear Rachel's voice in her head as clearly as if the girl were in front of her.

Oh god, Rachel in front of her... Her hips bucked against air at the thought and she widened her stance to steady her balance bent forward against the counter. Hooking her thumb into the waistband of her pajama pants, she imagined Rachel staring up at her from her knees with heated dark eyes, biting her lip while she tugged them down.

Her knuckles brushed against wet cotton and Quinn whimpered at Rachel's smirk as the girl nuzzled her through her panties again. Then the blonde was groaning out loud as Rachel pulled them aside, darting her tongue teasingly over the sensitive skin before pulling back enough to stare up at Quinn and suggestively lick the flavor from her lips. Dismissing all resolve to not indulge the burning lust she harbored, Quinn let the desire course through her veins and take over, dragging the girl's name out in a whispered plea.

Lost in the fantasy, she dropped to her forearm on the counter, head hanging over the sink and her barely there half-moans echoing back at her. Rachel's eyes rolled back in pleasure when she finally pressed two fingers inside Quinn, and the blonde felt herself clench around the digits.

"_Or do _you _like being teased?" _Rachel taunted and Quinn nodded in response to the vision, the ends of her hair tickling against her throat with the motion. The erratic pressure of her own palm against her clit as she slid her fingers in and out provided the perfect illustration of Rachel's taunting kitten licks, and Quinn couldn't stop the rocking motion of her hips. Rachel locked eyes with Quinn and grinned, curling her fingers and extracting another broken moan from the blonde.

Back in the basement, Santana sat astride Brittany's waist, rolling her hips against the girl's plunging fingers trapped between them. She pushed herself up and down off Brittany's ribcage, the blanket bunched forgotten between her ass and Brittany's thighs, with most of it on the floor anyways.

"So close...ungh_, Britt_—"

Brittany released her grip on Santana's hip, sliding her hand up smooth tan skin to roll around the curve of her breast, up across her collarbone to wind over Santana's arched neck, finally dusting her fingertips over parted lips. It took less than a breath for Santana to suck the digits into her mouth, whimpering around them and pressing her hips down to grind back and forth harshly. She gripped her fingers into Brittany's sides, a high-pitched keening sort of sound escaping as she tossed her head back.

Rachel blinked rapidly, frozen in place in her sleeping bag on the floor, not fully registering what exactly she was seeing even as she stared at it happening a few feet in front of her. Santana slumped panting and spent onto Brittany's chest, the taller girl reaching back to pull the blanket over them as Rachel stumbled to her feet.

"I'm just gonna," Rachel gestured vaguely, her eyes on the floor as she hopped over Mercedes foot, "uh, bathroom." She scrambled up the stairs breathlessly, not stopping as she continued up the next flight to the second floor. Her sleepy mind was too preoccupied with attempting to process what she'd just witnessed to go anywhere other than where she'd claimed to be headed.

Puttering down the hall, she rubbed a fist into one eye with a yawn, feeling mildly irritated that Santana and Brittany didn't have enough tact to at least come upstairs before having _relations. _Her hand closed on the doorknob to her bathroom, pushing it open before she froze in shock.

Quinn's forehead was pressed against her forearm, her eyes tightly closed and her fingers doing a wonderful job of channeling her dream-Rachel. She imagined the girl pulling back, using her fingers to spread Quinn open before tracing the very tip of her tongue around in circles that barely brushed against where the blonde wanted her most.

"Rachel, please!" Quinn moaned desperately, bucking into Rachel's tantalizing mouth. The sharp gasp from somewhere behind her shot adrenaline through her body in a shockwave and her head snapped up. Wide eyes found Rachel's immediately, an unintended whimper falling out when she saw Rachel's widen in shock before dropping to the reflection of her hand between her legs.

It bugs Quinn later when she thinks of this event that all she can possibly say to explain it to herself is 'it all happened so fast.' It's trite, it's still no explanation, and it's patently untrue. Time _slowed down_. It felt like full minutes ticked by, she watched Rachel's cheeks flush and her lips part, she saw the way brown eyes turned impossibly dark as she stared.

What she isn't sure of, is why she didn't _stop_. The moment her eyes met Rachel's, the air left her lungs in a rush and her belly spasmed, her body clenching on nothing. A wave of deafening and blinding sensation crashed and Quinn felt she was drowning, gasping and jerking with Rachel's eyes never leaving her own.

"_Rach-elll..._" It was a fragmented sort of gasp, Quinn's eyes rolling back in her head the next instant. She dropped her head forward and pulled her hand from her underwear, her panting the only sound echoing around the tile of the bathroom for a few heartbeats as neither of them moved.

Quinn finally lifted up to lean on her hands and meet Rachel's eyes again in the mirror. She sighed heavily, dropping her gaze to the sink and starting to wash her hands.

"Knock much?"


End file.
